


Catch Me I'm Falling

by epistemology



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batboys are bad at communication, Brune Wayne's C+ parenting, Don't Post To Another Site, Gen, Jason is really trying here guys, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Forever Evil (Comics), This fic will have one argument per chapter, but we all knew that already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistemology/pseuds/epistemology
Summary: Jason finds out about some of the events surrounding Forever Evil. Arguments ensue.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 119
Kudos: 394





	1. Aftershocks

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot for a tumblr prompt, but I got really invested and will be adding to it. (Title is from the musical _Next to Normal_ )
> 
> Thank you to [AK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/pseuds/LostandLonelyBirds/works) for the help:)

Dick peeled off a glove - it stuck to the sweat on his hand like latex, so he was forced to roll it off inside out - then tossed it absentmindedly over his shoulder. The floor was already littered with clothes and other various objects. He hadn’t gotten around to cleaning lately.

A chime from his laptop startled him, and Dick was glad he lived alone because the noise he’d made in reaction had been embarrassing. He let his body sag into one of his kitchen chairs as he tapped at the keys repetitively until the password screen came up. The notification was from Tim: a time and place, most likely courtesy of Bruce. He sighed and leaned back in the chair so that it was tipped onto its back legs.

Dick was glad Tim had messaged him, he was. Tim hadn’t been talking to him very much since he’d come back. And Dick didn’t blame him. He’d probably be mad if he were in Tim’s position. It’s not easy to bear the death of a brother, Dick knew that better than anyone, and putting anyone else through that was unfair of him. Even worse since it had all been a lie.

Dick peeled off his other glove and then the rest of his Nightwing suit - it felt good to be back in blue.

He didn’t remember what he dreamed about that night, but he awoke the next morning in a sweat. Rolling over into a more comfortable position, he groaned, his muscles still sore from the difference between his regular routines in Gotham versus with Spyral. There was a slight pull in his back, and maybe he should’ve stretched last night before collapsing into his sheets.

Dick sat up at the sudden sound of footsteps. Someone was in his apartment.

Leaving the warmth of the bed, he stood and quietly pulled on some pants. It wasn’t exactly necessary, but if he had to fight someone, he didn’t want to do it in his underwear. He opened the bedroom door as slowly as possible without making it squeak, revealing Jason Todd sitting on his couch, shuffling through the clutter of papers on the coffee table. 

“What are you doing here?” Dick tried to keep hostility out of his voice. God knows his and Jason’s current relationship was a mess. While Dick hadn’t been expecting a welcome home party when he returned, a punch to the face hadn’t been appreciated.

“Looking through your notes.” Blunt as ever.

“Okay, but why?”

“Because I need some info.”

Dick sighed and dropped onto the couch. He was getting nowhere, and it no doubt had something to do with the fact that Jason was still glaringly mad at him. He half expected him to shuffle away when he sat down, but Jason remained firmly planted on the middle cushion.

“You could’ve called. Or at least knocked.”

“Since when do any of us do that,” he pointed out, accurately, unfortunately. 

Dick shrugged. “I guess I’m just surprised you came at all.” He got a side eye for that, but that was good. It was better to be straightforward with Jason, or the tension would become something overwhelming.

“Why’s that? You still got the good case files. Not even Tim organizes them like this.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Well, actually Babs has the best, but she won’t let me look at her stuff.”

That wasn’t new. Babs never let people look at her notes without express permission. Dick used to be one of the few who held it.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’m happy to let you use my case files, but you have to talk to me if you do.”

Jason turned his entire body at that and looked Dick dead in the eyes. His eyes were such a bold green, filled with an intensity that Dick wasn’t used to having focused directly on him.

“Why do I have to talk to you about anything?”

“Because,” Dick countered, “we work together and it’s professional.”

Jason huffed, so he made another attempt. “And because we’re family,” he tried.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Family? You really expect me to believe we’re fucking family? You lied to us, Dick! You faked your death, and you let us all believe you were dead! What kind of family does that?”

And there it was. Should he even try arguing back?

“Look, I know you’re mad still. And I get it, okay? But it’s not like I had a choice!”

Jason scoffed, turning his head away. “You really wanna play that card?” He sounded tired, weary. “You’re Dick Grayson. You always have a damn choice.”

“I didn’t!” He barely refrained from slamming his hands down on the coffee table and scattering the sheets of paper everywhere, but it was a near miss. “You think I wanted to stay dead? You think I wanted to do that? To Tim? To Barbara, to Alfred, to _you_? Bruce said that- he said I had to, that it was the only way! I didn’t- I didn’t want to! I didn’t have a choice.”

He let his head hang, ignoring what a pathetic picture it must have made. He was beyond caring how he looked in front of Jason.

“So, you’re telling me it was all B’s idea?”

Giving Jason another reason to hate Bruce probably wasn’t a good idea, but Dick nodded numbly. He didn’t like talking about it; it made him feel drained in all the worst ways.

A loud huff came from a few inches away, and Dick raised his head to meet Jason’s eyes again. They were angrier, if possible. “Of fucking course he was behind it all! He always is!”

Dick opened his mouth to interject, to stop the coming rant, but Jason plowed forward and not in the direction Dick had wanted. “But _you_ still agreed! You lied, and you let him lie too!”

“I didn’t want to!” He fought back. “I didn’t- I never wanted to hurt-”

“What, to hurt anyone?”

“Yes! I never wanted to hurt you guys! That’s the last thing I wanted to do!”

Jason glared, eyes rock solid and blazing. “Yeah? Well too fucking late, Dickie. You didn’t see Tim, and Damian. You didn’t see how everyone was when they thought you were fucking buried, but instead you were just traisping around the world playing spy! How could you do that to them?”

Dick bravely ignored that Jason hadn’t included himself in that list and the implication that he hadn’t really cared.

“You weren’t there, okay? You weren’t there when Bruce was fighting me and pushing me, and I _had_ to do it his way because that was the only way, and it didn’t matter if I refused because he just kept _hitting_ and-”

Dick didn’t realize he was starting to hyperventilate until he felt Jason’s hands on his back, heavy and grounding and _there_. Inhale, exhale.

“Sorry,” he muttered, falling back into the cushions. Jason was looking at him curiously, so he looked away.

“Look, I’m not saying I forgive you. Yet. But I get how it is with B. You just, you can’t say no to him.”

“You sure seem to,” Dick managed with a small, self-deprecating laugh. 

Jason’s eyebrows raised. “That’s because I never talk to him enough to let him ask things of me. I mean, it’s not the only reason I avoid him, but it’s definitely one of them.”

Dick’s head fell back into the pillows, and he squeezed his eyes shut. One second. Two. He opened them.

“I can’t believe you avoid Bruce because you can’t say no to him! You act like you hate him, but really you just like him too much.”

Jason bristled a little, but Dick knew him well enough to recognize the body language as embarrassed more than angry.

“Pretty sure that’s not what I just said at all.”

Dick smiled idly, rolling his head against the cushion so he could face Jason and watching him mimic the action. “Nah, it wasn’t. But still.”

“For the record, I’m not sorry I punched you. But. I guess I wish I talked to you about this sooner. It must’ve been hell finally coming home, and then…”

He didn’t have to say it. Dick was satisfied with his almost-apology. It was more than most people could get out of Jason.

“Thanks. For coming over, I guess. And for not hating me anymore,” Dick said, and Jason looked away.

“Yeah, well. I guess I’m glad I did too.”

“You can stay and look over the case files. I’ll even help, if you want,” he offered. An official truce.

“That sounds good.” Jason smiled, and Dick found himself smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce hitting Dick is a reference to Nightwing #30, where he does in fact beat Dick until he agrees to go undercover.


	2. Take a Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason confronts Bruce. Things derail.

Bruce pushed down the cowl, the heavy weight falling to hang around his neck. The seat at the computer was cold - no one had sat in it recently - and Bruce sank into it with a weariness that had been growing steadily stronger the past few months. He switched on the controls, hands moving in the rote pattern he’d established when trying to burn his guilt deeper than it could go.

Dick’s return had brought with it a weight on the whole family, almost as if he’d died all over again. And so, Bruce found himself watching that tape again and again every night, every time he saw his son. The resignation in his eyes as he pleaded to save them, the fear when Luthor made that plea a reality, Bruce’s own mistaken reaction to events that hadn’t happened how he’d thought. The tape gave him clarity. It gave him objectivity.

He opened the video but did not press play. Dick and Tim had both gone home to their respective apartments, and the others had all gotten back earlier and since disappeared upstairs. The Cave should have been empty.

Except it wasn’t. The sound of breathing was barely audible, but there. Not empty, then.

Bruce knew without turning around that it was Jason. The Red Hood had been tailing him towards the end of the night, and Jason and Dick had been hanging out more lately, which should have been good, but Bruce was just suspicious. He turned, subtly blocking the screen, even though he knew his body wasn’t wide enough to hide it. Fortunately the opening image wasn’t particularly incriminating. There was a small blip at the beginning that caused the picture to be slightly grainy, enough that Jason wouldn’t make out the person strapped to the bomb, assuming he wasn’t looking closely.

Bats always looked closely, but Jason had a habit of never being able to focus on anything but Bruce. 

“Take the helmet off.”

Bruce expected him to argue, but the clasp hissed, and the helmet came off, revealing a mask and an impatient scowl underneath. He waited for Jason to begin; Bruce didn’t know what this was about and wanted even footing as soon as possible.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Bruce did, in fact, know that Jason thought him an asshole. He said nothing because he knew it would make him angry. When Jason was angry, he talked.

“And a manipulative bastard, too!” He pointed, one hand on his hip, and Bruce focused on not cracking a smile. The pose was reminiscent of Jason’s younger days. “You think you’re in charge of all of us, that we have to do what _you_ want at any given time! And you know what? Most of the time, we do! It’s pathetic how much your little soldiers give to you, and what do we all get in return? Boatloads of fucking trauma and all the blame for _your_ fucking actions!”

He paused, giving Bruce a chance to speak, though he would never have admitted that’s what he was doing, but Bruce still didn’t know what had sparked this rant. Jason was always mad at him for something. He chanced asking.

“Jason, what is this about?”

The lenses of his mask narrowed, and Bruce knew his eyes were burning the way they always had when he was angry. An image of Jason in his Robin uniform flashed through his mind, and the way his eyes had looked after dealing with particularly nasty criminals. The ire in them had burned right through the mask, so much so that Bruce was almost worried someone might recognize him. _Almost_.

“This is about Dick, you fucking asshole!”

That… was not entirely unexpected. Bruce could now guess what had set Jason off. Dick must have been talking to Jason, confiding in him. Which would have been good, if it were under different circumstances, if Jason wasn’t always so quick to blame him. He allowed himself to shift a little, though he still did not know if Jason knew about the tape’s existence.

“It had to be done,” Bruce said.

“Had to- Had to be done? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yes. It had to be done. You weren’t there, Jason.”

He bristled like a cat in water. Another funny gesture. Bruce almost smiled that time. “I didn’t need to be there to know it was an asshole move on your part, Bruce! You think you need to do these things to us, but you have no right to control our lives like that!”

“It wasn’t my decision.” Bruce barely kept himself from yelling. “I didn’t want it to happen either, I didn’t even know until after, but it had to be done.”

“That’s just it!” Jason evidently had no qualms with yelling back. “It didn’t fucking have to be done, Bruce! You’re the one who’s always preaching the whole ‘there’s always a third option’ bullshit!”

“There was no third option! And if there was, I wasn’t there in time to think of one.”

His irritation with Jason was growing. Jason didn’t understand. He hadn’t seen the way Bruce had _grieved_ when he’d thought-

“It was better than the alternative.” He let the statement hang. Jason couldn’t possibly argue against that, not with the way he and Dick had been getting along recently.

“Better than the alternative? Was it really, Bruce? Or was it just what _you_ wanted?”

“He would have died!” He yelled. “I didn’t want Luthor to do it either, but he would have died and for good! We all would have died! Is that really what you wanted to happen?”

“I- What?” Jason’s body language changed from aggressive to tense. He was bracing himself for something. Bruce realized rather belatedly that he had gotten it wrong; Jason was not upset about Luthor’s stopping Dick’s heart - he didn’t know.

Blame. Jason had accused him of letting them take the blame for his actions. He was talking about Dick’s choice to fake his death.

“He had to stay dead to maintain his cover and to infiltrate Spyral. There was no other way.”

Jason waved a gloved hand absentmindedly. “No, go back to what you said before. What did Luthor do to him?”

“Jason-”

“What did Luthor do?”

He wasn’t going to relent.

“He stopped Dick’s heart.”

Bruce had expected a reaction, confusion at the very least, but Jason remained dangerously calm.

“What?”

“He stopped Dick’s heart,” he repeated.

“Yeah, I got that, but why?”

Bruce took a breath and began. “Dick was strapped to a bomb that was wired to his heart. The only way to stop the bomb was to stop his heart. Luthor gave him a pill and then resuscitated him after.”

He tracked Jason’s shoulders move up and down, a steadying breath in and out.

“So what you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “is that Dick actually fucking died?”

“His heart stopped briefly, yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it before now?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant information.”

“Didn’t think it was- Didn’t think it was relevant? What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”

“Simply that you obviously wanted to blame him, and I didn’t think it would change your mind at all to know,” he stated.

Jason was silent, but he was breathing heavily. Bruce had made the wrong call. He always did, with Jason. And maybe he’d never intended to tell him what had happened with Dick - what’s done is done, the mission was a success - but he really hadn’t thought Jason would care. And even if he did, he hadn’t needed to know. It was Bruce’s burden to bear.

“Jason-”

“Sounds like you’ve already decided what you think of me,” he interrupted.

“That’s not what I meant. This isn’t about you, it’s about Dick,” he tried.

Jason froze but made no indication that he’d heard Bruce’s words. He was staring intently at a spot just over his shoulder.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Jason-”

“Stop saying my fucking name, Bruce. What the fuck is that?” He gestured wildly at the screen, where Dick’s blurred image stood waiting to die.

“I’m not giving you a copy,” he said in lieu of an answer. Jason simply looked at him and held the eye contact before marching right past. Bruce considered stopping him - Jason was emotional, meaning Bruce had the upper hand - but at this point it would have been more trouble. He watched silently as Jason pressed play, as he watched the entire video. Jason straightened as it cut to black.

Then he turned and walked out.

Bruce didn’t stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://epistemologys.tumblr.com/)


	3. Make Up Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Make up your mind that you're strong enough_   
>  _Make up your mind_   
>  _Let the truth be revealed_   
>  _Admit what you've lost_   
>  _And live with the cost_   
>  _At times it does hurt to be healed_

Jason shed his helmet and jacket immediately upon entering Dick's apartment, grateful he hadn't gotten an escrima stick to the face this time, but Dick most likely had noticed him following. He wasn't even in the living room, and Jason could hear the shower running already. Dick rarely showered right away - it wasn't safe if someone had managed to follow you home - but if that someone was the Red Hood, then Jason supposed that gave him enough of a safety net to take a quick shower without feeling too paranoid.

Jason tossed his gear onto Dick's one armchair and all but collapsed on the couch. While patrol hadn't been any more exhausting than normal, the conversation he was psyching himself up to have had been on his mind ever since he spoke to Bruce.

The shower stopped abruptly, and Jason sat up from the casual sprawl he'd been in. A few moments later and Dick walked in, dressed in what probably doubled as pajamas, and sat on the other end of the couch, perfectly mimicking the position Jason had been in only minutes prior, the picture of relaxed grace.

"You don't willingly come over here unless you want something," he pointed out.

Jason fought a grimace, because of course the golden boy had to remind him of that and make him feel guilty all over again. He'd been making more of an effort with Dick recently, he really had, and he'd hoped that Dick would've adjusted to the change gracefully like he did with everything else. Apparently not.

"Talked to Bruce," Jason said instead, and Dick visibly tensed at that, muscles tightening the way they did before a fight.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He told me some things you conveniently left out last time we actually talked about stuff."

He paused, allowing Dick a chance to say something even if Jason knew he wouldn't. His eyes were trained on Damian's painting of Titus that hung on the opposite wall. It was good, Jason had to admit. The kid had real talent.

He continued. "He said you died."

Dick hummed, a noncommittal sound that irked Jason more than the vacant staring had. His head turned slightly, enough so that Jason could see his face straight on and not just the profile.

“He told you that?”

“He didn’t have much of a choice,” Jason said flatly, and Dick gave a quiet huff, as if he found the whole thing funny, or at least vaguely ironic.

“I didn’t. Not really.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Jason,” Dick sighed. When he looked closer, Jason could see how ragged Dick looked, worn thin and stretched past his capabilities, frayed on the ends like the blanket Alfred had given him before he’d died and Jason had never had the heart to part with. “I don’t mind if you stay, but can we just watch a movie or something?”

Jason almost broke down there. Almost. But he’d had practice being an annoying little shit, and little brothers were supposed to be contrary anyways. They’d never really been family before, but now was as good a time as any to try, right?

“I saw the video.”

And that made Dick freeze, cold, hard, and motionless. He stayed like that, eyes staring straight ahead but looking at a scene that existed somewhere else, and Jason suddenly worried he’d said the wrong thing. A thick sense of panic overtook him, heavy and constricting.

Then Dick inhaled slowly, and the moment shattered.

He closed his eyes when he released the breath, training them directly on Jason as soon as they opened.

“Why’d you watch it?”

Not the question he would’ve expected, but Jason took it in stride. “It was on. Bruce was watching it before I showed up.”

“Why were you in the Cave?”

“To yell at B. Stop trying to get me off track.”

Dick smiled weakly. "Sorry."

"No, you're not," Jason shot back, good natured. "Why didn't you tell me you actually died?"

"You didn't ask."

And that wasn't unfair. Jason thought back to all the blame he'd piled on Dick, and even with the amends he'd been slowly trying to make, he'd been dancing around any mention of Dick's abandonment of them all. Bruce may have been the chief party at fault, but Jason knew forgiving Dick wouldn't come easy if he let himself remember the pain that had come with his death.

"Also," Dick continued, "it didn't really come up last time, and I wasn't particularly eager to open the sharing circle again. Or do you enjoy talking about your feelings?"

"No. But it would've been nice to know, especially since I'm one of the only ones that could actually understand that."

Dick's eyebrows furrowed, his face a mask of careful concentration. "But it was different with you. You were actually dead."

"So were you."

"No, I mean, my heart stopped for a minute or two. You were actually buried. The two don't compare at all. Yours was way worse."

"So?"

"What?"

"So? Why does it matter if my death was worse. If it's a competition, then I'm always gonna win, but that doesn't mean that you didn't die too."

And Dick finally looked Jason in the eyes, his own full of the grief that Jason had never understood until he’d had to sit through Dick’s funeral. Only then had it clicked exactly what Dick meant when he’d said that he’d mourned him. Jason had lost people before, but nothing had compared to the sheer disbelief that had come with being told Dick was dead. It hadn’t registered for days, because it was something that just _shouldn’t_ have happened. Dick was a constant, even more so than Bruce. His presence was inevitable, and his absence was an impossibility, should have been an impossibility.

“It doesn’t matter, Jay. It’s all in the past anyway.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter!” He sprang up from the couch full-force, unable to resist yelling, not when Dick was being so impassive. “It happened, so it fucking matters! You fucking died, Dick! And then you were forced to go undercover and not come home, only to have us all pissed at you when we found out you were alive!”

“What, so you admit you were wrong, then?” Dick asked wryly.

“I stand by the fact that I was pissed because it hurt like hell to know you let us think you were dead, but I’m also not an idiot!”

“Well, then what do you suggest I do about this, huh?”

Jason sat back down hard and ran his hands over his face, weary, exasperated. “I don’t know, Dick. If I knew, then I’d probably be better off, too."

A stilted pause.

"Great talk," Dick said sarcastically, and Jason just barely kept from groaning.

"Look, I'm not really sure what my end goal is for this conversation, but I just- You died, Dick, and you- You're allowed to be fucking upset about it!"

"But I'm not-"

"Like hell you're not!"

"Jason, will you listen to me!" Dick interrupted. He stood and started pacing. "It happened, okay? Things happen when you have this job, and you just have to move on. I just want to ignore it."

"Ignoring it isn't moving on."

Dick sneered, an expression so unlike Dick, and Jason was distinctly reminded of Willis and the times he was told what a worthless piece of shit he was as a child. "When did you get to be so smart? I don't remember you having all this wisdom back when you were trying to take over Gotham. Is putting heads in duffle bags _moving on_ , Jason?"

"Shut up."

"Oh, yeah, because you're such a model of perfect mental stability, so of course I should listen to you!"

"Shut up!" Jason sprang from the couch for the second time that night. "I know I'm a screw up! Okay, Dick? But am I such a bad person for wanting to make sure you're not?"

"Oh, so I'm a screw up now?"

They were in each other's faces, Jason taking advantage of his height to loom over Dick.

"That's not what I fucking said!" He threw up his hands, and Dick crossed his arms, defensive. 

"That's what it sounded like!"

"No! I just- I meant that I don't want you to- I just want to make sure you're okay, but I'm really fucking bad at it, alright," he admitted, looking at Damian's painting again, if only so he wouldn't have to look at Dick. Jason had stopped yelling, which seemed to have an instant calming effect on Dick, even if he was still simmering, arms still crossed.

Then he gave a short laugh, and Jason looked back, surprised. "Yeah, you really are."

It wasn't a compliment, and it wasn't really funny, but Jason laughed, too. It broke some of the tension, and suddenly they were both smiling, barely containing actual laughter. Dick sat back down on the couch and put his head in his hands, shaking enough for Jason to wonder if it was still laughter or something else.

"We're such a mess," he said incredulously, "both of us."

Jason sat next to him, maybe a few inches closer than he had before. "Well, you don't work this job and not lose your sanity a couple of times."

There was another pause, a moment for them to catch their breath.

"I died," Dick said.

"I know."

"How did you deal with this?" 

"I didn't."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Dick took a breath, and Jason could hear it shaking. "Will you stay the night? My couch is shit, but it'd be nice to have someone here."

"Sure, Dickiebird," Jason said. "I'll stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not have the next chapter ready for a bit because I'm busy with the DC big bang and the Jaydick exchange... Hopefully not too long though!


	4. Walk with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did not do anything for Jason's birthday (I know, am I even a true fan?), but I held off on posting this for a couple days because he does appear in this chapter, even if it's a bit more Tim-centric.
> 
> That being said, Happy Birthday to my favorite boy!

Tim stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him, the light it emitted the only source in the room, and it had long since given him a headache. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to five, opening them again. His head still hurt, and now everything was blurry. The image on the screen was still there.

Jason had visited the Cave a few days ago, and Tim knew this because he’d heard him yelling at Bruce. There were any number of reasons Jason might yell at Bruce, but a particular phrase had interested Tim, the only phrase he’d heard before Alfred had caught him lurking and sent him to bed with a disapproving stare and advice not to interfere. Well, Tim wasn’t the World’s Greatest Detective—screw Bruce—for nothing. Interfere was exactly what he’d done, and now he sat at his desk in the dark and wondered if it had been worth it. A rooftop flashed in his mind.

_ But you didn’t die, did you? You just lied. _

And that was the question, wasn’t it? Dick’s heart had stopped—a death by medical standards—but he hadn’t been buried, had still let them all believe he was gone when he wasn’t.

Tim was no stranger to loss. But neither was Dick, and that was what made it unforgivable.

The person on the screen was not his brother, not the brother that Tim knew and trusted. Secrets were a part of being in the family, Tim had accepted that, but not from Dick, never from Dick. They lied to other people, but they didn’t lie to each other.

And that was what hurt. Dick didn’t tell them any of the circumstances surrounding his death. He hadn’t told them he was alive,hadn’t told them that his heart had stopped, hadn’t told them Luthor had been responsible. He had just let them believe he was dead and then come back without any warning and expecting them to help him. It was about trust. Because he couldn’t trust Dick anymore, could he? Not when he might go off and do something like  _ that. _

Tim moved to sit cross legged on his bed and deliberated for a long minute before deciding to call Jason. There was no guarantee he would pick up, but a call would catch him off guard more so than a text. A text would let Jason know the territory, would let him weigh his options before responding.

He hit the call button.

It rang six times before a familiar voice drawled out a “Hello?”

“Hey, Jason. Can we talk?”

Background noise answered, the soft click of a door barely audible.  _ He’s moving rooms, _ Tim noted.

“Alright, what the fuck do you want?”

Tim breathed into the phone, suddenly unsure of how to begin, how to keep the upper hand. If Jason got the upper hand in any conversation, all bets were off.

“I saw the video,” he started. Nothing. “After your shouting match with B it wasn’t too hard to find.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think?” Jason asked.

That was…unexpected. Tim rolled with it. “Well, it’s not like he’d told us any of that himself. It wasn’t fun finding out like that.”

A snort. “Yeah, I’m sure it wasn’t. I got to see it when B was watching it, so I think I win.”

Tim let himself smile, even though Jason couldn’t see it. For all the bad history between them, he had never really hated Jason. Sure, he was terrified of him back when he was Robin and Jason had just come back as Red Hood and tried to kill him, but he’d never hated him. Jason had been Robin back when Tim was a kid. Jason would always be his Robin, and despite his many flaws and asshole tendencies, Tim still looked up to him. He would never admit it, but he did. 

“You’ve been hanging out with Dick.”

“So?” Jason's voice took on a defensive edge. Tim considered hacking into his cameras to read his body language before deciding against it. He knew Jason was currently at Dick’s apartment, and Dick’s apartment had cameras, but communicating with Jason was a matter of building trust. And he could no doubt find out if Tim hacked the camera. Hell, he probably had them open on his own laptop, waiting for an outside signal to appear. 

“So, you’ve forgiven him,” Tim said finally. He didn’t let it sound like a question.

It was ironic, Jason forgiving Dick. Jason had never been the most forgiving type, and he generally held to a rule of  _ criminals get what they deserve. _ Dick may not have been a criminal, but it still surprised Tim, that Jason would welcome Dick back before he did.

Jason was silent, a sign Tim still had the upper hand, at least for now. He continued. “I’m surprised you’re okay with this. Since you’re the one that died and all. I guess I thought you’d be, I dunno, more upset when you found out.”

“I was more upset. More upset at Bruce and Luthor. Not at Dick.”

“But he still let us all believe he was dead,” Tim pointed out.

“Yeah,” Jason said, “because Bruce forced him to!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim moved back to his desk. The computer light was still glaring, but his eyes didn’t hurt as much now.

“It means Dick didn’t want to join Spyral. He wanted to come home, but Bruce beat him until he said yes.”

Information about the beating aside, it wasn’t lost on Tim that Jason had said  _ home. _ That was new.

“What would the date have been?” he asked.

“I- what?”

“The date. Let’s see, Dick died on May 21st, so somewhere in between then and the end of the month, I’d guess.”

A pause. Tim let Jason turn that over in his mind. He was sure to figure out the angle in a moment.

“Yeah, Sometime around then.” Good.

The thing about the batcomputer was that Tim’s laptop had practically all the same software in a smaller shell, and he’d spent precious time connecting the two in little ways Bruce was sure to notice one day but hadn’t yet. Hacking into it wasn’t all that hard, not since he had all the right tools. And Tim had already found countless things that should have stayed hidden. This wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be hard.

Jason stayed on the phone as he tapped away at the keys. He sighed at one point, expressing his annoyance at how long Tim was taking, presumably, but Jason wasn’t above hanging up if he didn’t want to stay. Besides, Tim was hacking into the Batcomputer’s secure files. This wasn’t exactly his high school computer science class.

“Got something,” Tim said, and he heard a rustle on the other end. Jason sitting up in bed maybe? “It’s dated May 26. Video feed. No audio. I tried, but it’s been wiped.”

“What is it?”

“Hold on, let me watch it all.”

This was the point where Tim would love to tell Jason that the feed was too grainy to make out, or that Bruce had wiped the second half of it. Anything to avoid sharing what he saw.

Because it was Dick and Bruce. They were fighting on the mats, and sure, they did that a lot, for training, but this was unmistakably a one-sided fight. Dick wasn’t even trying to fight back at times, barely even defending himself from the harsh blows Bruce kept landing. And then there were moments when Bruce would say something, and Dick would explode with a burst of energy that never lasted long.

The angle was all wrong for lip reading, but the message was clear.  _ Do what I say, or I’ll make you.  _

Tim found himself hesitating again. “It’s Dick,” he admitted.

“And Bruce?”

“Yeah.”

“And what’s happening?” Jason growled.

“They’re- They’re fighting. Like you said. I can’t hear, but… B is- he’s being... forceful.” Tim chose the last word carefully. There were a number of other words he did not want to say.

He exited out of the video right as Jason started a rant, which he only half listened to. There were other files hidden behind the video feed. Audio files, with different timestamps, spread out over months.

He clicked one at random. Dick’s voice came through. Desperate. Alone.

_ Bruce- Mr. Malone. This is… Please,  _ please- _ Can I come home?” _

“Jason,” Tim interrupted, “I’m gonna have to call you back.” 

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim's words to Dick on the rooftop taken from Grayson #12
> 
> Dick's words from the audio recording taken from Grayson #9


	5. Catch Me Before It's Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter folks! Thanks to all who stuck around :)

Dick collapsed on the couch, exhausted. Jason had been staying with him, and it was nice having the company, it really was. Dick had always been a people person, so having someone with him, keeping him from wearing himself out the way he would if he were alone, was good. It was good.

But a moment to himself was nice, too. Jason was out doing who knows what, giving Dick a chance to lie down and not think for a solid few hours, because even though Jason had been doing a good job, all things considered, it sometimes felt like he was dancing around certain topics. And maybe Dick was just being overly sensitive, but he wanted things to be normal.

Who was he kidding. Things were never normal in their family.

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts.

“Dick, I know you’re there. Please let me in,” came from the other side, before he’d even opened it. Tim.

The door swung open, and Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re always welcome here, Timmy.”

“I am?” A look of surprise crossed his face before it was replaced by careful blankness, a Bat technique to it’s very core.

“Yeah, Tim. You are. Did you need something?”

And that spoke wonders about their relationship. Because who ever came to Dick not needing something. Jason, recently, but he needed something too. Atonement, maybe. A friend. Someone simply to be there, who wouldn’t leave.

What Tim needed was trickier. Tim always needed things. He needed a mentor, a big brother, support, a word of advice, a friend. But Tim hadn’t needed Dick in a while. And here Dick was, still opening the door to him without a second thought.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he said. “I needed to talk to you.”

“About?” Dick crossed to the other side of the kitchen island and leaned on his elbows. They’d do this standing, he decided.

“I talked to Jason.”

Dick knew that already. Jason hadn’t told him, of course, but he’d stayed over two nights ago and had disappeared to the bedroom for a suspiciously long time. The door had been closed, but Dick wasn’t above eavesdropping.

“And?”

Tim straightened his back, a perfect little soldier, no suit or mask necessary. “I didn’t know,” he said softly. Dick almost didn’t hear.

“Didn’t know what?”

He wasn’t going to make this easy. Screw him.

“About Bruce,” Tim said. “About how he literally forced you to fake your death and it wasn’t your choice at all.” Straightforward. So that’s how they were going to play this.

“I still left. I could’ve said no.”

“I saw the video feed, Dick. There’s no way you could’ve. Bruce, he. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Never, huh?” Dick pushed away from the counter. Tim was still standing awkwardly just inside the doorway, a strange limbo between here and not quite. He didn’t look uncomfortable, but then again, Bats were trained to hide their discomfort, and Dick was willing to bet Tim was shivering underneath the detached facade he put up.

He crossed to the other side of the room, the open floor plan leading him straight to the couch. The same couch he and Jason had already had multiple, similar discussions. Tim’s turn.

Dick sat and motioned for Tim to do the same. He was still standing by the door, hadn’t moved an inch. Maybe he didn’t know if he was allowed. Their relationship was rather tenuous at the moment.

But Tim moved, and he sat, and he looked Dick in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“Dick.”

“Tim.”

Dick watched as Tim closed his eyes and breathed. He wasn’t annoyed, but he was out of his element and struggling to categorize everything, something Dick could relate to, if it were different circumstances.

He didn’t want to make Tim beg forgiveness. He didn’t want to keep his little brother at bay any longer than necessary, but he’d also spent far longer than he would have liked shut off from his family, blamed for something he’d never wanted to do in the first place. 

It hurt, in a way very few things in his life had. 

“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Tim finally said. “I’m sorry for assuming the worst of you. I’m sorry that I blamed you without knowing any of the circumstances, and I’m sorry for— I’m sorry that I didn’t look for you.”

Dick froze. “What?”

He hadn’t been expecting that. 

Tim’s eyes were no longer trained on Dick. He glanced down and pulled at a thread coming loose from the sleeve of his sweatshirt. It began to unravel, slowly and meticulously, and Dick refrained from getting up to find scissors and cutting it off. 

“I looked for Bruce, didn’t I? When everyone thought he was dead. I had _nothing_ to go off of, Dick, but I never stopped looking, and I _found_ him. But with you, looking back on it, there were so many inconsistencies, so many clues that I should’ve caught. It was so obvious, but I never tried to look for you, and I—” 

Dick’s arms were moving before he could think, wrapped around his little brother and cradling him to his chest. “That’s not your fault, Timmy. You weren’t supposed to look for me,” he soothed.

“But I _should’ve!_ I mean, what is _wrong_ with me that I didn’t even try to see if my brother was still alive?” A hiccup. Dick felt a wetness gathering on his collar where Tim’s face was pressed. “I should’ve looked for you, and I didn’t!”

Dick ran comforting circles along his back, up and down, until the subtle shaking in his arms had stopped and the small sounds of sniffles had quieted.

“There’s been a lot of complications with this whole thing, Tim,” he sighed, “but I don’t blame you for not looking for me. I didn’t expect you to, and I didn’t want you to. It would’ve caused even more problems. All I wanted was to be able to come home. I wanted to be with my family again, and it kind of sucked to realize that wasn’t gonna happen because you were all mad at me.”

Tim pulled away and looked up into Dick’s eyes, earnest and young in a way Dick sometimes forgot he was. “We were mad because we hate being lied to, and because we all actually believed it for some reason. And I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t expecting it from you of all people.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for that. But now you know why I had to.”

Tim heaved a sigh, and Dick could feel the weight of it in his own chest. “I know. I just want to know I can trust you.”

“You can. Of course you can.”

“Good,” he said, finally cracking a crooked little smile that broke Dick’s heart just a tad. “You can trust me too.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Tim shifted on the couch until they were right up next to each other and Dick could put his arm around his shoulders.

“You wanna stay the night?”

It came as a surprise to Tim, Dick could tell, but he nodded, and his body relaxed into the couch.

Maybe they’d watch a movie. Maybe they’d just sit and enjoy each other’s company, but it didn’t matter to Dick. Tomorrow night he’d convince both Jason and Tim to come over, and maybe Damian too, if he could pull him away from Bruce long enough. They would exist together in a way they hadn’t been able to, not in a long time, and Dick would allow himself to hold onto the hope that they could be a family, one day.

There was still a lot to be said. Things weren’t perfect by any means. But for now, Dick had hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://epistemologys.tumblr.com/)


End file.
